A Lifetime Movie in the Making

I was attacked last night. Or so my face would suggest. I was washing it this morning and saw a huge scratch on the left side of the bridge of my nose. Then I notice my nose ring is MIA. Breeent! I run screaming through the bedroom, letting him know there was some kind of altercation. Brent puts a pillow over his head and mutters, “I knew you wouldn’t remember.” 

I may have had some libations last night (taking a word from my dad right there). And by some I mean lots. Which would explain the pounding headache and cottonmouth going on right now. 

Okay, I had lots of some drinks, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I step away from the bed. Unidentified scratches? Missing jewelry? An apathetic boyfriend? This was no outside job. This was a domestic disturbance. I arm myself with a high heel and ask B what happened. I prep myself for the worst; I never thought he was the kind of guy who’d resort to scratching. Or that I’d be the kind of girl who lamely says “I walked into a door.” 

B tells me, “I was turning on the electric blanket. You were hovering over me asking me why I don’t ever call you pretty. I got up quickly and my elbow nudged into your glasses, giving you the scratch. Which, by the way, is tiny (it’s not). You start shrieking that now I’ll never call you pretty.”

I put down the high heel grudgingly. That’s it? That’s not a riveting story. That’s a pretty classic Brig and Brent scenario (minus the scratch); me badgering, B ignoring. I need to stop watching so much Lifetime.